


Finger On the Off Switch

by LaMepriseFangirl



Series: Possible Endings to 9x23 Do You Believe In Miracles [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alternate Season/Series 09, Angst, Episode: s09e23 Do You Believe In Miracles, First Blade, Gen, Imagined ending to 9x23, Mark of Cain, Season/Series 09, Season/Series 09 Spoilers, Speculation
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-20
Updated: 2014-05-20
Packaged: 2018-01-25 17:57:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,159
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1657319
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/LaMepriseFangirl/pseuds/LaMepriseFangirl
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam and Dean are facing off with Metatron at last. Dean has been struggling with his new addiction to killing with the First Blade, knowing he has a problem but needing the First Blade to kill Metatron who, naturally, worms his way out of the situation.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Finger On the Off Switch

Sam and Dean have Metatron cornered in a poorly lit, grimy back alley in New York.

Dean is ready with the First Blade, despite the fact that Metatron has informed them that He's using a sigil quite similar to the one "Castiel's" followers used. The difference is that it's going to destroy a much larger area than an ice cream parlor or a bowling alley.

"You can kill me, kill _God_ , if you'd like, Dean, but are you willing to die and sacrifice eight million people? And Sam? Ask yourself, who's the _real_  villain here?"

"No one'll stop you if I don't," Dean says, raising the weapon.

Sam grabs him, stops him from getting closer.

"Dean, no!"

Metatron grins and turns his back on them. He strolls away, nonchalant.

Dean struggles free of Sam to run after Metatron, only to be stopped again by his brother, tackling him from the side. He drops the Blade and it's kicked out of arm's reach.

"We're not destroying an entire city!" Sam tells him.

"Eight million people now, or Metatron as God _forever_ , and this is our only shot!" Dean tries to wrestle his way out from under Sam. He's stronger, but Sam has him pinned pretty well.

"No it's not, Dean. We'll find another way."

Dean gets free and pushes Sam away. He snatches up the Blade and gets up, running a few steps in the direction Metatron went before he sees that He's gone. Then he's perfectly still, his back to Sam.

Brushing himself off, Sam gets back on his feet and waits for Dean to turn around. He doesn't, only grips the Blade so hard his knuckles go white and his hand trembles.

"What the hell is wrong with you, Sam?" Dean asks, voice flat.

"We're not killing him here. If we don't find another way, we can at least do it somewhere with less people around."

"Yeah? What're you gonna do with me until then? Lock me up? We both know I can't stop killing and there won't always be a monster around. Hell, this is the longest I've gone without using the the Blade in weeks."

"It only feels like you can't stop. You'll fight it."

"...Sam, go."

Sam doesn't move.

Dean shuts his eyes, already fighting more than Sam knows to control the growing frustration within him, the growing need to kill. That, and protecting Sam, are his only two drives now. He doesn't know which is stronger.

"You _ruined_ our chance to kill him, Sam. Get the hell out of here, or so help me I will stick this knife into you."

Sam again doesn't take the warning for the desperate plea that it is and a few short seconds later, Dean turns around and shoves him against the wall. He raises the Blade to Sam's throat, presses it against his skin.

Sam swallows and closes his eyes. He takes a breath and lets it out before opening them, expression now calm. No fear in his eyes.

"Dean, put down the Blade." His voice is a little strained; Dean is pressing him against the wall with his left forearm across Sam's chest, making it hard to breathe.

"You've got time before I waste you. Walk away now."

"If I leave, you're just going to find someone else to murder."

"You have no idea," Dean growls, looking Sam over, "how  _alive_  you are, or what it feels like when I kill. I don't want to hurt you, Sam, but I will. Please. Get the hell out of Dodge."

"Feels like you're dying, doesn't it." Sam pauses to let Dean think back to when the roles were reversed. "You don't want to think the word for what you're feeling. You need something, and it's more than a craving. It's not hunger or thirst or being horny or a bad itch or being too tired to remember your own name or suffocating, but it's like all of those thrown together plus a migraine. You know  _exactly_ what will fix it. But I promise you, Dean, you won't die if you don't get it. Just let go of the knife."

"When we locked you in that panic room you didn't have a bucket full of demon blood with you. That's what you are to me right now. What I see in front of me is something I want to kill." Dean pleads again: "Get the hell away from me before I lose control."

"You won't kill me."

"You can't bet on that. Every breath you take is begging me to be the last one, Sam. I can feel your heart beating right now, and I need to make it stop. That light in people's eyes that goes out when they die? Yours is... it's like I've been staring at strobes for an hour and my finger's on the off switch." Dean hesitates to share the third item, but it's the truth. "And you are so, _so_ warm right now. It stings, Sam, how alive and hot... people are. I can't make myself walk away, because I know just how damn good it'll feel when I ice you." His voice drops to a desperate whisper for the last few words.

Sam never looks away from his brother's face, inches away.

"I'll bet on it. I believe in you, Dean. I'm not leaving you. You're not going to kill me or anyone else, because I won't let you."

With effort, Dean moves his arm from its restraining position, rests his hand against the wall next to Sam, who's grateful to be able to breathe properly again. His fingers try to curl, getting grime under his nails, and he presses his palm against the cool rough brick. The First Blade is another matter. What he's needed so badly is right there for the taking and he's almost panting from resisting his urges to cut and slice and stab.

"You're making a mistake by staying, Sam. You're not safe with me. You have a chance to run," Dean says to what he knows is his little brother. He's looking but all he finds is a life and his own promised relief in extinguishing it.

"I'm safe from you. Other people aren't if I leave you alone. Put the Blade down, Dean. I know you're strong enough."

Dean clings to his brother's voice, clings to memories of other times Sam believed in him. He lowers his weapon, lightly dragging the tip over Sam's chest without meaning to, and pulls back a little. He can't let himself hurt Sam, no matter how badly he aches for the orgasmic rush of slaying.

Sam's expression of complete trust as he reaches to take the Blade away is the worst, most excruciating, most horrifying thing Dean has ever laid his eyes on, because the next moment it's gone, replaced with shock and hurt as Sam looks down to where Dean has plunged the First Blade into his body.


End file.
